


Lessons in Color Blindness

by cometcas (javabi)



Series: Hogwarts AU [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, M/M, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 13:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/javabi/pseuds/cometcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean used to think Quidditch was stupid, Slytherins were criminal masterminds, and red should never mix with green. Castiel had never met anyone who looked at him like he was worth something and placed such a high value on others' happiness. But as the two of them are about to find out, House colors don't matter very much at post-war Hogwarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lessons in Assumptions

All right, he couldn’t deny it anymore. Castiel Novak was a goddamn _artist_ on the Quidditch pitch.

Flying had never been Dean’s forte, and to be honest he had a tendency to look down on Quidditch players anyway. Especially snotty Slytherin rich-kid players like the Novak kid was. The way he saw it, being able to fling yourself through the air on a cleaning utensil was about as impressive as being able to actually sweep the floor with the damn thing. Sure, he and Sammy were Muggle-borns, but Dean refused to believe that was the reason he hated Quidditch. Like most sports, he simply thought it was stupid.

That is, until he saw Castiel play.

Until that morning, Dean had made it his personal responsibility to avoid the pitch at all costs, and for six solid years he had been able to think of a decent excuse not to go every time his friends went down to see a match. On this particular morning, however, Sam had finally managed to call him out on his excuse. His brother knew him better than anyone, and Dean should have realized that he would be able to figure out that Dean had no idea what Gobstones even was, let alone that he wouldn’t be attending the club meeting on that day. And so for the first time in his Hogwarts career, Dean Winchester was in the stands of a Quidditch match, along with the rest of the school.

At first the game was just as boring as he had assumed it would be. Sam and his friends were unbelievably loud, that dumbass commentator Chuck Shurley wasn’t even bothering to announce the score, and it wasn’t like he understood the stupid excuse for a game anyway. The blurs of green and red that passed for players moved around the pitch in a way that Dean couldn’t even begin the fathom, all except for one.

One of the seven green blots did a lot less flinging through the air and a lot more gliding through it. She (he? Dean had no idea from this distance) swooped and arced and twirled like a dancer, each movement perfectly timed and meticulously disciplined. There was no other way to say it: the movements were downright _graceful_.

“Hey Sammy!” Dean yelled suddenly over the din. His brother turned to look at him, no doubt expecting the elder Winchester to announce that he had to go back to the common room  or something. Instead, Dean asked curiously, “Who’s that kid near the other team’s bubble sticks right now?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “They aren’t _bubble sticks_ , Dean, those are goalposts. Can’t you at least _try_ to understand the game?”

“Yeah, whatever Sam. Just tell me who that is, will you?”

Sam squinted towards the far end of the pitch, but apparently he had was having trouble figuring out who it was too. Instead he turned to one of his friends (some blonde chick who never stopped smiling) to ask. When he returned his gaze to Dean, there was a big goofy grin on his face that Dean couldn’t understand.

“Castiel Novak!” he shouted over the roar of the crowd. “He’s from a famous family of Healers, all purebloods and all super proud of it. Why?”

Dean scoffed. “Purebloods, huh? Well never mind.”

“What do you mean, never mind? He’s a really nice kid.” Sam practically whined, prompting another snicker from Dean. Sam’s gaze turned hostile. “Dean, for the love of God you better cut this superiority crap right now. Just because he’s a pureblood doesn’t mean he’s a bad dude.”

“Oh yeah? Which side of the war were the purebloods on again, Sammy? Seems you need to brush up on your contemporary wizarding history.”

Sam’s lips pursed angrily. “In case you forgot, _Dean_ , the Weasleys were purebloods, and they were right in the middle of the anti-Voldemort movement. So you can take your _contemporary wizarding bullshit_ and shove it up your ass.”

“Whoa bud!” Dean forced a laugh, shocked at his brother’s outburst. Humor was the only way to deal with these awkward situations, he knew that much. “Relax, ok? I was just messing around. Anyway, this Novak kid, how do you know he’s nice?”

Sam seemed to calm down almost immediately, glad (Dean guessed) that they’d steered away from the whole “blood status” topic. “He saved my ass in Potions once. I had no idea how to brew a Draught of the Living Death and he walked me through it, all behind Professor Crowley’s back. It was pretty awesome.”

“Huh.” Dean replied, looking out over the pitch again. Now the Castiel kid was zipping through the bubble sticks, apparently having seen something. Like a tiger moving in for the kill, Castiel sliced through the air into a terrifyingly steep nose dive, his broom almost vertical to the ground. Dean just barely stopped himself from covering his eyes as the kid hurtled towards the earth– he was going to crash, there was no doubt about it – Dean hoped he wouldn’t get too badly hurt—

And then suddenly he was arcing back towards the sky. Like nothing had happened, the guy flicked a hand through his dark hair to keep his bangs out of his eyes and looked expectantly at the referee, a glint of gold between his fingers. Seeing this, the ref blew her whistle and the crowd erupted into a mighty cheer.

“Hey, Sam. SAM!” Dean was trying to get his brother’s attention, but everyone was focused intently on the pitch below for some reason. “Dude, what position does he play? Why is everyone yelling?”

“Dean shut up, we just won!” Sam screamed, hugging the blonde girl tightly.

“It’s over?!”

“YES!”

“But – you’re a Ravenclaw – Gryffindor and Slytherin are playing, why do you ca—“

“If Slytherin won today, they’d bump Gryffindor out of the running for the cup because— oh never mind. It’s Quidditch stuff, Dean, just drop it. You lions are OUT.”

“Yeah, whatever, I can still kick your ass, with or without enchanted cleaning tools.” Dean said grumpily. Just because he didn’t understand Quidditch it didn’t mean he didn’t want to _win._ “More importantly: how do I get off these damn bleachers? I wanna go talk to that Novak kid, you know, thank him for helping you and stuff.”

Sam gave him a knowing smile. He could see right through Dean’s bullshit, Dean was well aware of that, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying anyway. “Down the stairs, dummy. And make sure to ask Cas if you can take a ride on his broomstick!”

Dean blushed a deeper red than the crimson on his House’s robes. “Shut it, Sam.”

-O-

Ten minutes later, when he had finally battled his way through the crowd and stood at last on the green lawn of the pitch, Dean was worried the Slytherin team was already back in the locker room celebrating. His fellow Gryffindors were still there, huddled at the foot of the bubble sticks and looking dejected. Luckily there were still enough people on the field that it didn’t look odd for Dean to sneak past them.

The Slytherins weren’t huddled together at all. Rather, they were spread all over the place, talking to their individual groups of friends. This boded well for Dean, who spotted Castiel (of all places) among a group of Hufflepuffs. Maybe Sam was right, perhaps House lines _were_ becoming increasingly blurred.

“—and then you caught it, and the poor bloke was so excited that he caught the end of his robes on fire!” a red-headed Hufflepuff was saying animatedly. Anna, if Dean remembered correctly. They had been on a date a few years previously. She had been nice.

The gaggle of people around Anna and Castiel roared with laughter. One of them looked slightly sheepish, and Dean could only assume he was the one who had inadvertently caught himself on fire.  Dean cleared his throat pointedly and they all looked around.

“Hi Dean!” Anna said with a cheerful wave.

“Oh –  er –  hey there Anna.” Dean needed to make sure she knew she was not the reason he was here. Luckily for him, she was remarkably good at social situations and could see she wasn’t his target. Either that or Dean was a lot more transparent than he thought.

“Well, we’ve really got to be getting back to the common room, Cas. Congratulations on the win!” Anna said, squeezing him into a hug.

“Thanks for coming to cheer me on.” Castiel said. His voice was gravelly and slightly grumpy, yet he somehow managed to sound sincere. Either way, Anna beamed at him as she left, her small gang of Hufflepuffs in tow.

After she left, Castiel turned towards the locker rooms, ignoring Dean completely. Trying not to be offended, Dean jogged to catch back up with the guy.

“Hey! Wait up!”

Castiel stopped and turned back around, his broom slung over one shoulder. “Yes?”

Damn that voice.

Dean was at his side in a matter of seconds, but as soon as he got there he realized he had no idea what to do or say next. He stuttered for a few moments before he managed to blurt out, “Nice flying.”

Castiel nodded and made as if to turn back towards the locker room again. “Thank you.”

“WAIT!” Dean practically yelled. Castiel spun to face him again with a slightly surprised expression. Dean clapped a hand over his mouth in embarrassment. _Shit_. “Erm – I also— I wanted to thank you for helping my brother out. In Potions.”

Castiel looked interested now, thank God. “Oh, are you Sam’s brother? Dean, right?”

“Yes sir – uh – yeah that’s me, Dean Winchester.” _Why_ did his mouth have to be so goddamn stupid?! He felt his face grow hot again.

“Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester.” said Castiel brightly, stepping toward Dean once more and extending a hand for him to shake. Dean took it eagerly. The kid’s hands were softer than they looked, and his shake was confident and firm.

“Nice to meet you too. And nice flying.”

Castiel smiled a little. “Yes, you’ve said that.”

Great, as if he needed to embarrass himself any more. “Oh – right yeah I did, sorry. I’m just— I’m not a huge Quidditch fan. This is the first match I’ve ever seen.”

“Seriously?” Castiel looked shocked.

“Listen, man, there’s no need to be mean about it, I’m a Muggle-born, so—“

“I wasn’t— no I wasn’t being mean, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to be anyway. I apologize.” Now it was Castiel’s turn to look embarrassed. “Just, you kind of look the type.”

Dean bristled. He hated it when people assumed he was some dumb jock. “I think Quidditch is stupid and I wouldn’t be caught dead playing.” he muttered bitterly.

God only knew why, but for some reason that made Castiel laugh. Against his better judgment, Dean decided he liked the sound. Castiel, however, seemed wary of offending Dean again, so he stopped himself mid-laugh and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, I just – you’re surprisingly adamant about this.”

“My dad always said sports would make me more man— never mind.”

Castiel’s expression softened. He changed the subject almost immediately. “So, if you don’t like Quidditch, what do you do with your free time?”

“I uh— I play guitar. It’s a Muggle instrument. For making music.”

“Whoa, really?” Dean had to give him credit, the guy played the part well: he actually looked interested. Unless that was genuine interest…? No. He wouldn’t get his hopes up like that.

“It’s stupid, honestly. Everyone in my dorm hates it.”

“Well I’d love to form my own opinion sometime,” said Castiel with a smile. Then he seemed to realize something and stepped away. “I mean— you know, if you want.”

“Yeah!” Dean said a little too enthusiastically to be considered cool. There weren’t many people who would volunteer to listen to Dean play his guitar, except for Sam obviously. He blushed. “I mean— you know, if you want.” Wow, Dean, way to parrot the guy’s own words back at him. Real smooth.

“You know, you’re pretty cute when you blush like that.” Castiel said, apparently before he could stop himself. “Shit, sorry. I mean—“

“It’s cool, man.” Dean said, feeling a bit relieved. “I’m uh— I’m bi.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t mind if I ask you out for a butterbeer after I change?”

Dean grinned wider than the pitch they were standing on. “Not in the slightest.”

He decided he liked Quidditch after all.

 


	2. Lessons in Innuendos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exorbitant amounts of blushing, broomstick riding, and rolling around in the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd, all mistakes are definitely mine. Feel free to point 'em out :) In fact, I'd love you to.

“So… What’s a cool guy like you doing playing a dumb sport like Quidditch?”

Castiel laughed. Despite Dean’s gruff (his mother would say rude) demeanor, he couldn’t help but find the Gryffindor amusing. He was charming, in his own way, and seemed genuinely interested in Castiel. That was something, at least.

The Three Broomsticks was full of their fellow upperclassmen, all enjoying the Saturday afternoon in their own way. In the corner, the older members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were huddled around a table together, having a subdued conversation about the match. Castiel hoped that Dean wouldn’t find this uncomfortable (him being a Slytherin, a member of the team who had just beaten Dean’s), but it seemed that Dean couldn’t care less. His attention was solely on Castiel, a fact that the Slytherin tried not to find too flattering. Still, he felt a small bubble of pride looming in his chest at the knowledge that he was currently on a kind-of-date with Dean Winchester, the notoriously popular jokester and school-renowned heartbreaker.

“Quidditch is one of the few things at Hogwarts I can honestly say I’m doing for myself, I suppose,” Castiel replied. When Dean looked confused, he sighed and continued, “My family is full of Healers, so I’m on track to become one too. Advanced Potions, advanced Transfiguration, pre-N.E.W.T. Herbology … Name a high-level class, I’m probably taking it. Quidditch is the only opportunity I’ve got to have any fun.”

Dean mumbled something that sounded strangely like “if that’s what you call being fifty feet in the air hanging onto a magical stick of wood,” which made Castiel laugh again.

“I like flying. It’s very relaxing.” He couldn’t quite keep the amusement out of his voice, but he doubted that Dean cared very much.

“Hey man, whatever sizzles your bacon.”

Now it was Castiel’s turn to be confused. “Is that a Muggle phrase?”

Dean chuckled and took a swig out of his butterbeer. “I don’t know, to be honest. Basically I mean that as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

Something inside of Castiel suddenly felt very warm and sweet, like melted chocolate was filling his veins instead of blood. The Novak household was not famous for encouraging its children to do whatever made them happy. Hence, his current career situation.

Trying to keep things light, Castiel steered the discussion back to discovering things about Dean. “So what are you on track for then? Have any careers in mind?”

Dean shifted in his seat nervously. “I uh – I think I want to be a curse-breaker.” He looked down into his butterbeer  as if wishing he could drown in it, his face turning red enough to hide the spattering of freckles across his nose.

Castiel, however, saw no reason for him to be ashamed. “Fascinating! That’s very cool, Dean. I mean it. Curse-breakers are widely respected in the wizarding community. They’re very brave.”

Dean blushed harder.

“Yeah,” He said dismissively. “But it depends on if I can pass Arithmancy. I hate that bloody class.”

“My brother, Gabriel, loved Arithmancy. He’s a Slytherin like me, but I’m sure he’d be happy to help you out if you need it.” Castiel smiled. “Just as long as you can put up with the offensive amount of candy he eats.”

Dean huffed a laugh into his butterbeer as he took another sip. “Dude, my little brother spends half his life gobbling down the shit he finds in Honeydukes, I’m pretty used to it.”

There was a lull in the conversation. Castiel took the opportunity to glance around the bar, and noticed that Dean was doing the same. Perhaps this wasn’t the most unique first date, but at least Castiel was enjoying himself. He was afraid he wasn’t sure if he could say the same for Dean, though, so he decided it was time to make things a little more interesting.

“What do you say we head back to school? I could show you what you’re missing when you say that flying is stupid.”

Dean blanched visibly. “No freakin’ way.”

Well, that could have gone better. Castiel cursed himself. Trying not to look too disappointed, he said “Oh. Ok sure, we can go for a walk or something if you want? Or maybe—“

“No, ok sorry, uh—“ Dean stammered. The poor guy looked just as nervous as he had on the pitch a few hours ago, telling Castiel that he was a good flier. Good lord he was cute.

“Seriously, Dean, I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to.” Castiel cut in quickly. There was no way he was going to mess this up that easily. “I didn’t realize that you felt that strongly about flying, apologize.”

“No no no, it’s cool man. I just—“ Dean took a deep breath. “It’s kind of a phobia of mine. I want to, trust me I to, but – er— I’d rather not make a fool out of myself in front of you. Not on the first date anyway.”

Two wonderful things came out of that sentence: First, Dean was blushing so hard Castiel was afraid his head might catch fire, which was adorable. Second, this was officially a date. The balloon inside Castiel’s heart cavity swelled to the size of a Quaffle.

“Wait, did you think you’d be flying alone?”

“Well yeah!”

Castiel laughed, then stopped abruptly when he noticed the offended expression on Dean’s face. “Sorry. I wouldn’t make you do that, Dean. Of course I wouldn’t. I meant we could ride on my broomstick. Together. Sorry, you know what I mean.”

“Oh my god.” Dean looked like every internal organ in his body had suddenly dropped through his toes as a big gooey mess. “Oh my god,  _no_. Who do you think I am, dude? We barely know each other! Seriously, on the  _first date_? I know I’ve got a bit of a reputation at this school but honestly—“

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Castiel was alarmed. Dean was taking this much worse than he had thought. Dean, however, seemed not to have heard him, and was continuing to rant and sputter like a dying fire.

“—and all this time I totally thought Sam was joking! Well I guess that’s just fitting that it turns out you’re like a horny little puppy, huh? I can’t  _believe_ —“ Dean got up to leave, which was when Castiel grabbed his wrist.

“DEAN!” Castiel practically yelled. Half the bar turned to watch them, but he didn’t care. What he cared about was the fact that Dean was now looking at him with so much  _disgust_  he might as well have been a diseased flobberworm. Castiel took a deep breath. “What are you talking about?” he repeated.

Sitting back down and leaning in closely so that he didn’t have to speak very loud, Dean hissed, “ _You_! Here I was, thinking you were such a cute, nice dude (my freaking brother _vouched_  for you!) and all you want is sex. I’m just—“

“No!” Castiel practically squeaked, his voice going higher in distress. “No that’s not it at all! I think you misunderstood—“

“Oh, I understand perfectly all right. Just because I’m a Muggle-born doesn’t mean I don’t fucking understand sexual innuendos when I see them. You want me to ‘ _ride your broomstick_ ’ yeah ok. Goddamn horndog.”

“What’s a hor—“ Castiel started, utterly confused. Then came sudden understanding, breaking through the confusion like a broken dam. “Oh. OH! You thought I was trying to get into your bed?!”

Dean gave him the most condescending look Castiel had ever seen. “Don’t fucking pretend like that’s not what you meant. I know that—“

“That’s absolutely NOT what I meant!” Something about Castiel’s tone must have shocked something into Dean, because he didn’t interrupt as the Slytherin continued, “I thought you might like it if we took my broom out again and went for a quick ride around the pitch, that’s all. I swear that’s all I meant. I didn’t imagine you’d take the suggestion any other way!”

Several people in the bar were looking at them now, the two boys with flushed faces and heavy breath, staring at each other across the booth like a pair of wild dragons. Even the Gryffindors in the corner had momentarily stopped their conversation in order to listen in. Neither Dean nor Castiel paid them any attention.

“You…” Dean looked slightly shell-shocked. “You weren’t trying to— that wasn’t an invitation to— but I thought—“

“Dean.” said Castiel calmly. “I’m a very straightforward person. If I were trying to get into your bed, you would know it. Now is not one of those times, nor do I see it happening anytime in the future after this.” He sighed mournfully. He had been  _so careful_  not to screw up, and where had it landed him? Absolutely nowhere. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

Something in Dean seemed to soften, like someone had smudged all his hard edges with an eraser. “I—Nah man _I’m_  sorry. I misunderstood you, and I probably, er, overreacted a bit.”

“It’s quite all right. I’m sorry for not making myself clear.”

“So… does your offer still stand?”

“What offer?”

“Can we still go down to the pitch for a ride?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you’d still be interested.”

“Well,” said Dean, shifting in his seat. “Flying isn’t exactly my favorite thing in the world, but one time Charlie Bradbury convinced me to give it a go on her old Shooting Star and I had to admit it wasn’t terrible.”

“An experience that is considered ‘not terrible’ is generally not one that is considered ‘good,’ which is something that I’d like this date to be.”

“Honestly? I think you could make any situation pretty damn good. Even flying.” Immediately after saying it, Dean covered his mouth with his hand as if to stop the words from spilling out. But it was too late, and for that Castiel was quite grateful. Who knew that rough and tough Dean Winchester had a softt side?

As a response, Castiel pulled Dean’s hand from his mouth and kissed him on the cheek. He had never seen the guy turn redder.

Castiel didn’t let go of his hand, not even as they walked back onto the grounds together, grinning like a pair of ghouls.

-O-

Dusk was falling as Dean and Castiel circled the abandoned Quidditch pitch on the latter’s Firebolt. The pink and orange clouds over their heads reflected off the goal posts, making them appear fuzzy and warm.

Dean was sitting behind Castiel, gripping his waist and laughing into his ear. Castiel was surprised and delighted to find that Dean apparently enjoyed flying a lot more than he thought he did, but just in case he made sure to take it slow and stay close to the ground. Anyway, Dean was always very vocal if the broom went higher or faster than he was comfortable with.

“Holy fucking God on a tortilla LOWER CAS LOWER JESUS CHRIST!”

“I highly doubt that God is on any flatbread, Dean.”

“I AM NOT JOKING YOU PIECE OF SHIT GET— thank you.”

Castiel tried not to laugh. “Muggles certainly have an extensive repertoire of colorful language to express displeasure.”

Dean grumbled something inarticulate as Castiel glided them around in lazy circles. They were only a few feet off the ground, toes just barely skimming the grass below, and Castiel would have been bored out of his mind if Dean Winchester hadn’t been hugging his waist so tightly. And laughing into the Seeker’s ear. And occasionally nuzzling his face into his neck.

Castiel couldn’t help smiling. This was the best he’d felt in a long time. Despite their slow speed, his hair blew pleasantly off his forehead as if shifted by a summer breeze. Dean was warm and solid against his back, squeezing him like he was  _necessary_  and Castiel would be lying if he said that wasn’t the best feeling in the world, knowing that he was needed by someone. Sure, Dean was a bit rough around the edges, he sometimes placed too much value on blood status, and he had an inexplicable hatred of the best sport in the world. But to Castiel, each one of these traits was nothing but endearing. Thinking of this only made him smile wider.

Shifting on the broom so that he was facing Dean, Castiel guided them into tighter and tighter circles. At first Dean had been staring, transfixed, at the ground below, but as Castiel turned around the Gryffindor looked up to face him. Grinning wildly with his hair blowing back and his green eyes alight with manic glee, Castiel had a notion that he had never seen anyone more attractive. Just as he was trying to figure out what to do about that fact, Dean was leaning in for a kiss.

There was no time to think, no time to rationalize what was going on. Suddenly just  _warmth_. That’s all Castiel could think about. It flooded from their joined lips and throughout his body, rushing through his fingers and toes, then his limbs and torso, finally settling into his chest. A warm, pleasant weight sitting between his ribs like a candle had suddenly been lit.

Dean’s lips were soft, but they were also electricity and fire and scorching sunlight. The kiss started off chaste, but the shock of it caused Castiel to momentarily lose control of his broomstick, and suddenly the two of them were tumbling down onto the grass.

Surprisingly, Dean didn’t even miss a beat as they fell to Earth. Castiel was on top of him, so he scrambled to get up in case it made Dean uncomfortable. The Gryffindor, however, wasted no time pulling him back down into another kiss. This time Castiel was expecting it  _and_  he had more maneuverability, so he didn’t hesitate in grabbing Dean’s face and plunging wholeheartedly into a deeper, needier version of the first meeting of their lips. Dean’s hands were everywhere, moving up and down his sides, through his hair, up his shirt, over his cheeks. Castiel laughed and ran his tongue along the inside of Dean’s mouth, eliciting an unexpectedly large reaction. Dean gasped and gripped him tighter still, opening his lips to allow more of Castiel’s tongue to find its way between them. Before too long, however, Castiel had to break the kiss or else they’d surely suffocate from lack of oxygen.

“Cas…” Dean panted. “I’m—wow. You’re freakin’  _incredible_.”

Castiel smiled. “I like the nickname.”

“Which one? ‘Cas’ or ‘incredible’?”

“Both are acceptable.”

Dean laughed, and when he did so his entire body reacted, like all of it was laughing along with him. Castiel felt it move under him and he positively beamed with pleasure, like he was a sponge sopping up Dean’s own happiness. “Seriously, though. How come it took me so long to find you?”

“I do spend an obscene amount of time in the library, and Sam has informed me many times that you don’t normally enter the place. He says he frequently goes there to escape from you.”

Dean chuckled, then somehow managed to flip Castiel over so that he was lying on top of the Slytherin. Upon completing this action, Dean growled into his ear, “Mood killer.”

“Don’t you remember? I’m not trying to get you into any sort of  _mood_.” The word sounded odd on his tongue.

“Yeah, well you’ve already failed pretty epically at that.” Dean muttered, kissing Castiel’s neck.

Castiel pulled away with a groan of disappointment. “Come on, we’re going to miss dinner.” He made to stand, but before he could get up all the way Dean was pulling him back down.

“Five more minutes.”

“Two more minutes.”

“Deal.”

They were covered in grass stains and dirt and sweat, but Cas didn’t care about any of that as Dean kissed him so hard he saw stars. It was amazing how one encounter could improve his life so much over such a short amount of time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was originally intended to be a one-shot, but it seems to be turning into something more... No idea how long it will go on, I guess until I run out of ideas. Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that the timeline for this doesn’t really make sense (Dean was born in 1979, the same year as Hermione) but I didn’t want to write them into the same story so give me a bit of poetic license here. I also recognize that we all have our own ideas of which Houses the boys would be Sorted into, so I ask for a bit of leeway on that too. Honestly, I could see all three of them in any House :)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


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